


Dramatic Rescue

by Mertiya



Series: Story Circle [23]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: Alcohol, And Jace blames himself for everything, But Ral isn't taking any of that shit, Gen, Liliana is not a good person, Rape, Rape Recovery, Self-Blame, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 04:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10689462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Jace goes drinking with Liliana, and things turn out badly.





	Dramatic Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings. It's very dark, Jace has a lot of self-worth/self-blame issues in addition to the events that actually occur in the opening of the fic.

             _No. Stop._ She’s moaning above him, and he can’t find breath to move his lungs. Even his manabonds have gone dead; he’s alone in his head. _I agreed to a drink—I didn’t agree to this. I didn’t—_

The pillow beneath his head is flat and hard, but it’s better to pay attention to that than to anything else. His body won’t stop; he’s disconnected, floating. The fog of the alcohol is heavier than he remembers. _You deserve this. You know what she’s like_. _Shut up and stop fussing_. Head spinning round and round. Mother of storms, _make it stop_. He doesn’t even know who the mother of storms is. Doesn’t believe in the Ravnican gods anymore than he believes in any others, but oh, if he could—if he could just, for once, have someone _intercede_ for him, help him get himself out of the mess he’s gotten himself into once again.

            It’s all right, he soothes himself as his body jumps and jerks, disconnected. It’s all right, later, when the alcohol’s gone, he’ll be able to take it away. He’ll be able to wipe it all, cross it out, _delete delete delete—_

Has this happened before?

            “Ouch, watch your angle.” His body corrects, but he isn’t in charge.

            Oh please, let this not have happened before. Let him not have wiped it from himself, sent himself back into this darkness, innocent and unknowing, let it—but if he deletes it, it could happen _again_. Through the fog of the alcohol, he desperately tries to think back through the week, tries to fight through the haze to discover a clue as to the last week’s evenings, but he doesn’t know. He could have been tired and gone to bed early, maybe.

            His breathing is harsh and loud in his ears. If only he could get his hands to move, he could shove her off—but if he did that, what would she do? Terror clutches at his stomach, warring with the awful heat building in his belly. He’s close— _god no, please no, please, not for her, not this_ —but his body keeps moving. Did he offer this? Did he say yes?

            All he has in his head is the muddle of alcohol, and then the press of her smirking lips on his own and not a single vocalized _no_ anywhere in there. Coward, coward, coward.

            “Hand,” she orders, and she takes his hand and moves it to between her legs. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to pretend that it’s Emmara, that it’s Nissa, that it’s _Ral_. Please. Anyone.

            Flicker of blue in his mind, the ghost of a manabond. He strains for it, feels the shocked sudden spark jumping from him to—someone else. He doesn’t know who. Doesn’t know where. The alcohol—at least it’s stopped him from climaxing yet, at least it’s given him an excuse to be elsewhere, to be gone, retreating— _rewrite, erase, delete delete delete —_

            “Stop,” he whispers, managing to move his lips and vocal cords from somewhere very far away. “Stop, _stop_ ,” but he knows it’s not loud enough, knows she won’t hear. Flicker of blue again. Flicker of something else, outside the window, almost outside of his line of sight. She’s moaning and moving, and he can _feel_ it; every time she moves, nausea twists through his stomach. She’ll stop if he throws up, but his treacherous body can’t even manage that much of a signal.

            Lightning flashes. The window’s half-open to let in the cool night air, and he can hear the pattering of rain. “Get _off_ me—” Jace manages to rasp, although he still can’t seem to move his hands to push, and she pauses, and stares, and then she’s being pulled away backwards and oh _thank Krokt thank someone_ he can _move_ , and he’s curling up, knees to chest, blindly feeling for his cloak.

            “What the _fuck_ are you doing to him?”

            “Who the hell do you think you are?”

            Jace rolls off the bed, landing in a tangle of limbs. There’s his cloak. Open the clasp, swing it round, get it over his shoulders. That helps. He’s not naked anymore, not quite.

            She’s talking again. “Do you always find it necessary to interrupt—”

            “Mother of storms, Jace, are you—”

            It’s Ral. Jace doesn’t know how he got here, but he’s never been so glad to see anyone in his life before. “I need to get back to my office,” he croaks. He can’t stand; every limb is trembling. “I need—I need to not be here. I need—”

            “Jace, what’s going on?” She’s talking _again_. No, no, it’s his fault, it’s his fault for not saying anything, but the only thing coming out of his throat is _no_. Over and over again. _No no no no._

            “C’mon.” Ral’s arm under his shoulder, helping him up. Stiff and awkward, yeah, that’s good, that’s _normal_ , that’s Ral, it’s okay.

            “I didn’t—I didn’t want this,” he says thickly, stumbling over his words.

            “Then why didn’t you say anything?” she asks impatiently, leaning towards him. He flinches back, and then Ral’s between them again, lightning crackling from hand to hand.

            “Back the fuck off,” he snarls. “Do not fucking _touch_ him. Come on, Jace.”

            “I—what? Whatever you want, of course.” See? You could have just _asked_ , Jace.

            “You were _raping_ him,” Ral hisses.

            “I was not—”

            “He’s drunk out of his mind, he can barely walk, and you thought it would be okay to just—” The lightning threatens to break free; there’s a miniature storm howling up around the two of them.

            Jace tugs at Ral’s arm. “Please, I need to get back. I need—I need to—” Fuck. He’s crying.

            “Yeah. Yeah, come on.” Ral maneuvers him to the door.

            “Jace,” Liliana says.

            “Fuck off,” he manages, and it makes him feel a little better. It’s still hard to move, especially with the way the alcohol makes the world seem to dip under his feet every time he takes a step.

            The inn is not too far away from Jace’s sanctum, as it turns out. Ral doesn’t say anything as they walk back, just keeps the steady arm under his shoulders. When they reach the sanctum, he does ask Jace if has pajamas. “Mm,” Jace assents, then frowns. “Not sure where,” he admits, and Ral rolls his eyes and starts searching. Jace sits on his bed and stares at his hands.

            After a few minutes, Ral grunts and throws the pajamas at his head. “Not that I have a problem with mess, but couldn’t you try to have them on the _top_ layer of the detritus you have strewn over your floor?”

            Jace laughs weakly and mutters an apology as he slowly undoes his cloak and shrugs on the pajamas before curling up into a small ball on top of his covers.

            “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jace, you’ll freeze.” Ral moves; Jace tenses up. “I’m just getting you another blanket,” Ral tells him. A moment later, something warm is thrown over him. “There. Now go to sleep.”

            He still feels sick, the nausea roiling in his stomach, but the bed’s so warm, and Ral’s presence—just _there_ —is vaguely comforting. He can’t think straight anyway, and sleep creeps up to claim him before he realizes it.

~

            When he wakes up, there’s a sour taste in his mouth, and he’s close to vomiting. He rolls up on the bed, sweating and suddenly panicking, because what if she’s here, what if—

            Ral looks up at him from the floor, where he’s tinkering with something that has a lot of wires. It wasn’t there the night before, Jace is pretty sure. “You okay?” he asks.

            “Uh,” Jace says. He aches; he’s pretty sure there are bruises around his ribs and hips, and a headache is pounding merrily away behind his temples. “Um. Not…entirely?” he hazards. “Sorry.”

            Ral rolls his eyes at that. “So,” he says, after a minute. “Why me?”

            “Um?”

            “I suppose you _were_ drunk, maybe you don’t remember. I found you last night because I heard you practically _screaming_ for help in my head.”

            Jace flinches. “Yeah, I—didn’t mean to,” he gets out hoarsely. “I just—wanted someone—I don’t know, I was panicking, I’m not sure what happened.”

            “Yeah, I’m not surprised you were panicking, it’s not a problem.” Ral shrugs. “Just wondered why me, instead of your Azorius arrester or charming planeswalker man of steel.”

            Jace opens his mouth. “I—don’t know exactly,” he says after a moment, trying to probe at his own mind to remember the thoughts and feelings going through it at the time. That is a mistake. He stops quickly. “I don’t know why _not_ them, but, um. As for why _you_. I trust you?”

            Ral blinks. “Well. Good,” he says.

            “I,” says Jace. “I really—r-really appreciate—what you did. Um.”

            “Yeah, well, I—anyone would have. You want her fried? I didn’t last night because I wanted to get you out of there.”

            “No—it was—it was partly my fault,” Jace mumbles. “Should’ve told her to stop. Earlier.”

            There’s a crackle-hiss as lightning dances across Ral’s back and arms. “Yeah, fuck that,” he says. “You were drunk, you could barely move, and she wasn’t even—she wasn’t even looking at you. It’s not your fault.”

            “I went drinking with her,” Jace says, with a weary sigh. “We—used to be—I guess she thought I’d like it.”

            Ral snorts. “Did she ask?” Jace stares at his fingers, tangling in the hem of the blanket. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

            There’s probably something he’s supposed to be doing, Jace thinks. Guildpact related, or—Gatewatch related. The thought of interacting with— _her_ —makes his heart skip at least two beats. “Shit, I—need to, I need to…” He presses the heel of his palms to his eyes. “Ugh, I can’t. I need some time to myself.” He’ll talk to Gideon later. Gideon won’t make him keep working with her, after—after that. Jace trusts Gideon.

            “So,” Ral says, sounding entirely too casual. “I’ve got some equations that aren’t working out. You’re pretty good with manaflow predictions, right? Want to help out?”

            Jace lets out his breath in a shuddering rush. “Yeah,” he says slowly. If Liliana tries to find him, it’ll be nice to have someone else around. A sudden image of Ral, the night before, surrounded by crackling lightning, comes to mind. It’ll be _very_ nice to have Ral around. “That sounds nice.” He probably has things to do for Lavinia, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle doing them anyway. He’ll have to tell her what happened. And Gideon. But maybe for now, he can just stay with Ral. Fucking about with equations sounds safe. “Thanks.”

            Ral makes an acknowledging noise as he continues to tinker with the whatever-it-is. Jace pulls on his cloak and sits on the edge of the bed. “Thanks,” he says again, and Ral looks up. “For—defending me. Most people, well, they don’t.”

            “Most people,” Ral says, twisting the screwdriver in his hand viciously, “are idiots. I could have told you that.”

            It still hurts. It still hurts, and it’s not okay; _Jace_ isn’t okay. He suspects it’s going to be a while before he feels even halfway to okay. But—at least, for once in his life, he’s starting to believe it might not be his fault. “Thanks,” he says again. He expects Ral to roll his eyes or crack a joke, but Ral just nods in acknowledgment.

            “Anytime,” he says.


End file.
